“Confound it all! How dare you, sir! How dare you speak to me like that?”
“Say what you like, speak what you will to me,” said Alleyne, excitedly, “but let that name be held sacred. It must not be drawn into this quarrel.”
“How dare you, sir! How dare you!” roared Rolph. “What do you mean in dictating to me what I should say? Name held sacred? Drawn into this—what do you say—quarrel. Do you think I should stoop to quarrel with you?”
Alleyne raised one hand deprecatingly. “I’d have you to know, sir, that I am telling you that I am not blind,”—he repeated this as if to mend his observations—“I tell you to keep away from the Hall, and to recollect that because a certain lady has condescended to speak to you in the innocency of her heart—yes, innocency of her heart,” he repeated, for it was a phrase that pleased him, and sounded well—“it is not for you to dare to presume to talk to her as you do—to look at her as you do—or to come to the Hall as you do. I’ve watched you, and I’ve seen your looks and ways—confound your insolence! And now, look here, if ever you dare to presume to speak to Miss—to the lady, I mean, as you have addressed her before, I’ll take you, sir, and horsewhip you till you cannot stand. Do you hear, sir; do you hear? Till you cannot stand.”
Alleyne stood there without speaking, while this brutal tirade was going on. His breast heaved, and his breath was drawn heavily; but he gave no sign, and presuming upon the success that had attended his speaking, Rolph continued with all the offensiveness of tone and manner that he had acquired from his colonel, a rough, overbearing martinet of the old school.
“I cannot understand your presumption,” continued Rolph. “I cannot understand of what you have been thinking, coming cringing over to the Hall, day after day, forcing your contemptible twaddle about stars and comets, and such far-fetched nonsense upon unwilling ears. Good heavens, sir! are you mad, or a fool?—I say, do you hear me—what are you, mad or a fool?”
Still Alleyne did not reply, but listened to his rival’s words with so bitter a feeling of anguish at his heart, that it took all his self-command to keep him from groaning aloud.
And still Rolph went on, for, naturally sluggish of mind, it took some time to bring that mind, as he would have termed it, into action. Once started, however, he found abundance of words of a sort, and he kept on loudly, evidently pleased with what he was saying, till once more he completed the circle in which he had been galloping, and ended with,—
“You hear me—thrash you as I would a dog.”
Rolph had run down, and, coughing to clear away the huskiness of his throat, he muttered to himself,—